Inspired by  grisser

The Tabernacles

Poem 1: The Game Of Life

Sitting on the fringe of the bed, soaked in pale dim lit yellow satin candle mist, that floated around the room without a single flutter in the nightly vales, that bothered me in the night, made me think, of better things gone by of the fluttering feet, of an old dog’s nails, and bushy bunny tails.


For endless woe, the lapping lick of the lamplight that frisked within my lantern to and fro, the gentle movements through the night, addressed the room I sat in... and I... gob-founded, glanced at my once pale white painted walls, splashed and decked in the colours of the tablet, on my bedside table.

Shunt I forget it, this memory this paw, its much stiffer now than before, crocked and broken like the many wooden floor boards in this derelict place, the ones that creak and crack with the pressure of one single tippy toe, and the scratches from fits of rage, I’ve made with my nails.

Those which now stuck up out of the floor boards, some decorated in white and blue fur, snagged from my feet which I trudge on the wooden bedroom floor. This place... certainly colder now from when I remember... I dare remember too much...I sometimes remember when this place was stable.

The Shakespearean Rag would have presided itself in front of the fire for the quests, I’d imagine come and tell tales of never ending sorrow and woe, and with the burden to travel come to me... Like this would be the place to go, at all. It was certainly fit for me, certainly for the ones with grails.

Pardoned by the fact of the tablet sitting on my bedside table that covered with paw prints that which I see myself no longer preside at all... as if I ever did. This flock of ginger hair that flops in the wind...If I ever go outside, that sun would hurt my eyes...these things you hear in a childhood fable.

Granted I never brought myself here, that clearly would of been madness...madness I clearly do not possess... posed above the fire mantle, father....Father was such a mastered rabbit, his tail flocked and surrounded in that satin silk like robe... His form one I honour, in all its details

The one time I feel so alone, is when in a crowded room, this I take from my mother...She’s the aspect...She’s the idol, not posed over my fire mantel...I dare not think again...To whom is she to this rabbit. The one thing mother was...was.... well she was always able.

Able to make me laugh always there to credit my skill, she’d usually go over my sketchbook...full of images most obscene, and laugh them off...not to mock me, since she always left her opinions in here. Sometimes I wish she’d still do that...that...well let’s say, I need these sales.

Sometimes I pace the dangerous wooden floored room where the yellow satin sheets sweep to and fro on the floor, cleaning to uncleanness floor beneath the bed, where boxes of hopes, wishes and dreams...

Walking in the knee high grass through which the dew ripples down the inner thigh of my overalls, the water that lapped against the lakeside cowshed seemed endless loud, yet full of dark blue, and full of its inner beauty each wave lapping softly, like the with fur that cradled the ginger tuft on my head, the water presided to lap and lift the dirt from the cowshed side, this the cleanest I’d seen it in a long time, trudging along in my wellington boots, as each squelch from the manure soaked concrete floor, became louder than the light lapping waves thundering the side of the cowshed’s walls.

My brown eyes as clear as the concrete floor below the one remaining part of livestock I had groaned, as I shifted it into the well kept part of my land, this the thing so many want, the peace the quiet, the lapping waves licking the outer walls of the cowshed, and the serenity of the siphon coloured Sheppard skies at night. This which fills my every bone with shire delight... the light of the sun streaming across the blue abyss of sky, not a cloud in site... not a site to see, nothing here but the cow... and me!

That hour did him well, he has many oats on which to feed on during the night...with that I took up my lantern and lit the light within... it flickered now more than before, a strong chill that shook my big bunny ears, flustered the cow...damn the accursed winter weather... It was the best time of season for me...usually I’d see the friends in the city, my tablet in hand gawking at the erected building that punctured the blue abyss... not crystalline like the country-sided sky I see, but yet as fascinating to me was, the creatures here, had nothing here...but a mug of coffee, the daily news gossip and a suitcase... “for work”...work!...why not try being a bunny, all this consistent hoping about, sometimes it’s cute, but sure I am a grown man...men don’t bounce...not in public anyway... sometimes , just when nature calls...

The sieve filed granulated dirt filled potted plants, that sat side by side, were scarce and fake, the true dirt I miss sieving through my paws, the stench of country air in my lings being intoxicated by the bellowing fumes of vehicles, that trudged inch by inch through lights clinkering flickering more often than the pale satin yellow flame in my lantern, the shifting glow of the same three tedious colours wafting in the bellowed smoke from the engines of the vehicles, these creatures, I enrapture on the tablet...the one I grasped firmly in a tight grip between my two paws...pausing for thought...pausing at the sight of a single cloud...stabbed by the sky knife, a dream to be...this thing no one else can see!

These cooperate business creatures in suits ties, more profanities to the eyes, living on their “Blackberries” on their “I phones” moral little accessories...toys for the bigger boys to play with...they were no better than children...children they were no less...I saw this and drew it on the only thing i really could call a moral accessory...the thing that gathers dust...time from time... sitting on the bedside table...sometimes it is better to just look at the pale sunlight flutter across the lapping laundering white water that crushes the rocks beneath the soles of my big bare bunny feet...in which my paradise is there demise...and some of these cooperate creatures...they think they can pester me...they have some balls!

Sometimes I pace the dangerous wooden floored room, where the pale lapping candle lighting lantern sits fondly to sleep upon a rusty old nail tinkering back and forth...slowly flickering itself to die, slowly putting the light of the life I lead, fade into the darkness it would slowly slip away...Sometimes I pace this well lit hotel room, wondering if...and only if...does the pale yellow light, hear the terror of screams.